Where'd You Go?
by IronAmerica
Summary: When the party arrived in Philadelphia, they were captured. Each of them has a different impression of Danny when they see him for the first time in nearly four months. FOHL 'verse
1. Charlie

Hey, it's a new NaNovember story! Charlie gets the picture first.

Un-beta'ed, so quibble away.

- o – o -

Where'd You Go?

Chapter one: Charlie

When she and the rest of her group are capture, Charlie can't understand how the patrol found them. She didn't even understand _how_ they hadn't noticed the patrol. They'd set up a watch. They'd. Been. Careful. Even Aaron, who was more of a teacher then a fighter, had been careful. (She really did want to find out where he'd learned to set up traps like that; hell, even _Uncle Miles_ had been impressed, which said nothing but good things about those traps.)

Charlie knows there's something wrong with the way she's being treated. If she were locked in a cell, and being beaten by Militia soldiers for hours on end, she wouldn't be worried. If she were locked in a nice room, with Militia officers visiting her, she wouldn't be worried. (She'd kill them, or at least make them fight for what they were going to take, but she wouldn't be worried, because that would be _normal_. The Militia were animals. She was supposed to fight them.)

Instead, she's in a decent, if somewhat Spartan, room. There are sheets on the bed, and a curtained-off alcove with a wash basin and a chamber pot in it. She's got a desk, and can ask the guard at her door for books, or paper and pencils. If she's supposed to be a prisoner, it doesn't exactly feel like it.

By the time she's finally let out of her cell, almost a week later, Charlie begins to understand the reasoning. She can have almost anything she wants, but there's no human contact. She can request books, or something different to eat (there aren't any guarantees that she'll get what she asks for, but she can still request it), but there's no human contact, not from the guard who never speaks and whose face and hands she never sees. She's touch-starved and contact-starved.

The guards, still quiet and unsmiling and somber, lead her to a small sitting room. Charlie's heart stops when she sees Danny sitting there, perched on the window seat like a bird poised to fly. She stands there in the doorway, eyes filling up with tears as she tries to hold him that moment forever.

Her guard shoves her into the room, breaking the moment. Danny looks up at her, a curious expression on his face. After a long four minutes (there's a working clock on the wall, Charlie notes), he finally smiles in recognition and bounds across the room to envelop her in a hug.

For someone who's been in captivity for nearly six months, Danny is surprisingly healthy. He looks happy. He also, judging by the smell, had a bath recently. Charlie inhales, smiling sadly at the scent of roses. Their stepmother, Maggie, always used rose-scented soap.

"How…how are you, Danny?" Charlie asks thickly as he leads her over to a small table with three chairs. He shrugs and contemplates the plate in the center of the table with a suspicious look on his face. Considering that they're in the heart of Militia territory, Charlie can't blame him. The pastries, which smell appetizing after her rather bland diet of the past week, are probably poisoned.

"…fine," Danny replies quietly, after another few minutes. His voice is raspier then Charlie remembers, and quieter. She tries not to notice how his hand shakes when he finally picks a small slice of yellowish bread off the plate. He picks at it, not really paying attention.

Charlie gives up waiting for him to say anything else. The shadow in his eyes, and a hundred other tiny clues, says all she needs to know. The best clue as to how he's been treated, though, is around his throat. Charlie has to dig her fingers into the armrests on her chair to keep herself from leaping across the table to rip the dog collar off her baby brother's neck. If she tried, her guards would probably shoot her, or beat Danny. Or both.

The siblings sit in silence for about a half hour. Charlie jumps when the silence is broken by the door opening. She is _not_ happy when she sees who's entered the room. Major Neville killed their father. He's intruding. He _shouldn't_ be here.

Charlie sees _red_ when Major Neville tilts her brother's head back and kisses him hard enough to bruise Danny's lips for a good while. Her ability to keep herself under control is severely strained when he wraps his hand around her baby brother's throat, stroking along the pulse. The eager, happy whine her brother makes as Major Neville deepens the kiss is what makes her snap.

She's not allowed back out of her cell after that. From what one of her guards tells her, though, the notes she starts writing are pretty damn popular. That should piss her off, but it doesn't.

Charlie continues to write elaborate plans to murder Major Neville for touching her baby brother.

- o – o -

So, what did you think? Good? Bad? Think Charlie should carry through with one of those plots? Drop a line and let me know!

Author's note: For those of you who haven't read one of my prior stories, this is one of the pre-written NaNovember stories written to put my regular fics on hold while I take care of NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month. This one takes place during one of my two books for this year, called Fashion of His Love. FOHL is the full-length puppy!Danny fic I've been promising my readers. Also: I REACHED 38K TODAY!


	2. Aaron

HOLY CANOLI I'M AT 50K! Have a new chapter! Aaron enters the picture.

Un-beta'ed, so quibble away.

- o – o -

Chapter two: Aaron

Aaron remembers how the world used to be, before the blackout. He was on top of the world. Things made sense. The guys who'd bullied him in school cleaned his floors. (Well, one of them had, anyways.) Everything had gone right back to how it'd been in grade school the second the power went out. He wasn't on top anymore, and it was likely that he never would be. Not unless, by some miracle, the power came back on.

As soon as General Monroe had discovered the pendant Ben had given him, Aaron was pretty sure he was going to be killed. He'd sat in his cell, waiting for them to come in and kill him, or drag him out to be executed in public.

What he doesn't expect, though, is for Danny—Danny, who he and the rest of the group's been searching for, for months—to walk into the cell, accompanied by General Monroe. Danny looks like he's been crying recently. Monroe has a possessive hand curled around Danny's hip, and Aaron wishes he was brave enough to bull-rush the leader of the republic. He can guess what's happened.

The freedom he's granted after a rather smug speech from Monroe, instead of the execution he expected, is worrisome. Aaron spends most of his time in a suite in what used to be one of the best hotels in the city. He spends a lot of his time writing, mostly useless pages of code for systems that became obsolete fifteen years ago. He doesn't expect any visitors—not being shot is the best he can hope for, especially given that he's just given one of the keys to power to the anti-Christ.

Danny walking into his room one day is a surprise.

Any bit of hope Aaron had of seeing the kid he helped raise takes a jump out the window as soon as he sees how cautious Danny is. Back in the old world—or even a few months ago, he amends silently—Danny would have been one hell of a daredevil. And it would have been safer in the pre-blackout world, Aaron realizes, because Danny would have had rescue equipment and inhalers on hand. In this day and age, any crazy stunts—like the ones he's fond of pulling—would kill him. Have almost killed him, in fact.

"Hello…Aaron," Danny whispers hesitantly, sitting down on the chest at the end of Aaron's bed. He stares at the floor, refusing to look up. If Aaron goes only by body language, he has to guess that Danny's been beaten pretty badly. He's seen a lot of people like that, in the last fifteen years. None of them are like Danny, though—even in a world gone to hell, the youngest Matheson is still an innocent.

"How…how are you?" Aaron replies, not sure what else he can ask. Danny gives him a one-shouldered shrug, still not looking up.

"I…wish…" Danny says, slowly, like he's not sure if he can form the words, "Tom…was here." He looks slightly pleased with himself for managing to say all of that. Aaron wonders who Tom is, and says so.

"He…protects me," Danny whispers. He's fingering the collar around his neck, sounding wistful. Aaron puts his glasses on, and can just barely make out the words "Property of Tom Neville" written on the tag. His blood boils at that.

"I wish I could believe that," Aaron replies, just barely managing to keep the growl out of his voice. He sighs and rubs his face with both hands as Danny shoots him a betrayed look. He wishes he doesn't see the finger-shaped bruises on the kid's jaw, or around his throat, but he does.

"He does," Danny says after a few minutes, voice still soft. He draws his knees up to his chest and buries his face in them, and stays like that until Major Neville (promoted months ago, after he'd abducted Danny, according to papers the gang had acquired on their trek)—the man who shot Aaron's best friend—comes to retrieve Danny.

The look on Danny's face as Neville touches the bruises tells Aaron more than body language ever could. The look of concern on Neville's face, the almost tender unspoken moment between the two, says even more.

If Aaron were braver, he'd kill the bastard who'd put those bruises on Danny's face. Then he'd kill Neville for not protecting Danny.

But he's not, and wishes he was.

- o – o -

So, what did you think? Good? Bad? Want to help Aaron kill Monroe and Neville? Drop a line and let me know.

Author's note: Yes. I'm at 50,000 words in 11 days. I have no hobbies to occupy me. At this rate, I should be able to post FOHL by Thanksgiving. :D


	3. Nora

Holy canoli, an update! Nora sees Danny. She's not happy.

Un-beta'ed, so quibble away.

- o – o -

Chapter three: Nora

The best Nora knows she can hope for, after they're captured, is a hanging. She's not important enough to merit a firing squad—that's probably been reserved for Miles—but the hanging… She's seen what happens to members of the Rebellion. Hanging is the best she can hope for—and she can pray it happens before the soldiers get to her.

But, since she's tossed into a cell first, Nora can only guess that Miles escaped and she's bait for him. At least, she prays that's the reason. If Miles escaped, that means there's still hope. She knows Charlie and Aaron were captured. Aaron will be fine—he doesn't know anything of value. Charlie won't be fine—she's a Matheson, and she's going to be bait for her uncle, just like Danny is.

She has to wonder what the Militia's done to the kid. Nora's only seen him once, when he was on the train in Noblesville. He had the bluest eyes she's ever seen in her life, even taking photoshopping from before the blackout into account. The bruises on his face, and a faint one trailing down his throat… Those convinced her she had to save him. She knows what the soldiers of the Monroe Republic do to prisoners, especially the pretty ones.

Nora sits in her cell, waiting for the execution squad to drag her out. She waits for a week—if she gets one meal a day, it's been a week. Her stomach's growling, and she can't stand too much light when they finally let her out. The shackles almost slide off her wrists because she's lost a lot of weight (it might have been more than a week, then, but she never had been at a decent weight since the collapse). Nora relishes the sound of the chain keeping the shackles around her ankles together dragging along the floor. If she can wrap her legs around the guard's throat, she can strangle him with them. The chain between them long enough for that.

The guards lead her to a sitting room. There are four men there. She knows General Monroe on sight, and Colonel Faber. Captain (although he's a major now, and in charge of intelligence) Neville, she also knows. She's tried to kill all three of them before. With Colonel Faber and Major Neville, she's almost succeeded. She's never been even close to successful with the general. The fourth man—more of a boy, really—she doesn't know.

When he finally turns around, Nora recognizes him. It's Danny, Miles' nephew; Charlie's baby brother. His eyes are still the same amazing cornflower blue. But they've changed.

Nora's heart breaks when she sees that the light that made Danny shine—the light she'd seen once, but knew better than anything else from Charlie's descriptions—was gone. His expression is flat, dull. He's been broken. Whoever did this to him, Nora can only compliment them on doing such a thorough job.

She refuses to admit that she sees the amazing light shining in those blue, blue eyes when Neville touches the kid's back, whispers something in Danny's ear that has him smiling widely and nuzzling the major's shoulder. She does acknowledge that the smile disappears almost as quickly as it comes. Nora knows, instinctively, that it's because of the hungry, almost predatory look Monroe gives him. The look makes her skin crawl. She's done a lot of things to get information, even spread her legs on occasion, but she'd never wish something like that on a kid like Danny. She's heard stories about him—the boy's an innocent. He doesn't deserve this.

Monroe's view of Danny is blocked almost immediately by Major Neville. Nora knows the motion that put Neville between Danny and his commander is unintentional. The man's just pointing at something on the map table. Danny goes back to staring out the window, fingers tracing meaningless patterns on one of the panes of glass.

Whoever broke Danny did a damn good job. Major Neville's putting the pieces back together. Maybe. Nora hopes and prays he is, even if he's part of the Militia. Danny's broken, and someone has to.

That still doesn't make it right.

- o – o -

So, what did you think? Good? Bad? Does Nora need to kill Monroe now, or just stand back and let Neville do it? Drop a line and let me know!

Also, I reached 83K today! (A little over, but meh. Who cares?)


	4. Miles

Hey, it's a new chapter! Miles is not happy. Not at all.

Un-beta'ed, so quibble away!

- o – o -

Chapter four: Miles

Miles doesn't understand how they were discovered, much less captured. He was careful, and he _knows_ how the Militia was trained. He trained them. Miles knows how to escape them, because he knows how they think. Except…someone's trained them differently. The closer to the capitol of the republic they get, the more careful Miles and the rest of the party has to be. Out on the edges, the Militia are drawn from local communities. They take taxes, but they're local. They don't have contact with the capitol. Not enough to be of consequence, anyways.

Hiding out in a burned-out home should have been enough, Miles knows. The houses are rarely searched—not ones as ramshackle as this. It's a few sticks of timber held together with spit and a prayer. Charlie kept the fire low. Nora made sure the few guns they had were fully loaded. Even Aaron chipped in with some traps that left Miles wondering just _what_ the former programmer had _done_ with his spare time before the blackout. (The most creative one utilized the last of Nora's latest failed attempt to make cordite, a few matches, and too many disturbingly utilized garden implements. Miles is suitably freaked out and impressed in equal measures.)

But none of that saved them from getting swarmed, overpowered, and captured. Miles made it the furthest in the ensuing scramble. Charlie was right behind him, and then she wasn't. Nora wasn't as lucky, and was captured inside the house. Aaron, Miles guesses from the shouting, is taken down defending her.

He's promptly thrown in a tiny, box-like cell. The chains around his wrists are connected to a hook on the ceiling, and he has just enough chain between his wrists and the hook that he can stand on the tips of his toes. There's no light, and no one delivers food to mark the passage of time. Miles' feet begin to cramp around what he judges to be the third day. By the end of a relative week in the box, Miles is sure he won't be able to walk. He's not sure what's causing him more pain—the biting cold from having his clothes stripped from him and the regular bucket of freezing water that gets dumped over his head just as he's about to drift off to sleep, the lack of food and water, or the debilitating pain in his feet and wrists.

When he's finally dragged out of his cell, Miles understands exactly why he was kept in those conditions. He's blinking spots and tears from his eyes from the sudden brightness of the dim lighting in the hall he's being dragged down after so long in total darkness. He's weak and trembling from hunger, dehydration, sleep deprivation and cold, and the guards are so much stronger than him right now that he can't fight back. His feet refuse to respond to commands, so he can't run either.

Miles is oddly relieved when, instead of taking him directly to Bass, his guards deposit him in a bathroom. The servants—he's not actually sure what else to call them, even though they're wearing uniforms bearing the Monroe Republic's crest, but carry themselves like civilians—heave him into a large tub and scrub him until his skin is raw and pink with the same cold, somewhat ruthless efficiency.

He's allowed to dress in clothes slightly too big for him after his week (or more, maybe) in the tiny cell before the guards return to escort him somewhere else. Miles grits his teeth to keep from hissing in pain every time he has to set his feet on the floor; he still can't put them flat on the ground, because the cramping has made them curl.

Miles is silently, pathetically grateful when the guards tie him to a chair in an unfamiliar office. The man spends the next few minutes trying to flex his toes, with a minimum of success. He observes the room as well, trying to figure out who uses it. A dog person, definitely—Miles can infer that from the basket under the window. Big dogs, probably, if the size is anything to go by. _Really_ big dogs…

The look of surprise on his face when, instead of Monroe, Major Neville enters the room isn't entirely feigned. Miles' look of surprise turns to one of mingled disgust and horror when his nephew enters the room, following Neville.

Danny, his nephew whom he hasn't seen since the kid was two, is almost naked and crawling on his hands and knees like a dog. There's a wide band of black leather around his neck. Neville has a leash in his hand, but he's not dragging Danny along behind him. Miles squirms and struggles in his bonds, wishing the guard hadn't gagged him before leaving. The ropes cut into his wrists, and his wrists begin bleeding.

If he weren't tied to the chair, Miles knows he'd kill Neville. When he'd been in the cell, Miles had spent his time planning how he'd rescue his nephew. Unfortunately, in all of those plans, he hadn't been so weak he could barely hold his own head up; he definitely hadn't counted on his nephew being treated like an animal. (Miles _really_ hadn't wanted to believe the stories he'd heard; metaphors had been regaining popularity, and he'd been praying the stories were just using them.)

Now, though, killing Neville is a goal.

Miles' fingers dig into the wood of the chair as he watches his nephew curl up in the basket, whining happily and nosing for more affection from Neville when the man gives him something. His. Nephew. Is. Not. A. Dog!

Danny looks at him in curiosity, before huffing and putting his head down. He continues to stare at Miles, chin resting on his hands, looking so very much like a dog.

Miles only half-listens as Neville tells him about the interrogation he'll be going through. Normally, prisoners don't get that kind of courtesy, but Miles is a special case. Sergeant Strausser will be handling his interrogation. Miles and Neville both give Danny concerned looks when the boy whines and buries is face in his arms.

And then, so quietly it's almost inaudible, Danny speaks.

"Don't…let….them touch…him…so…badly, Neville," Danny whispers. He speaks like the words are painful. Miles can't read the expression on Neville's face, but he can guess that this is the most Danny's spoken in a while. It is not a comforting thought.

After that, the conversation turns to lighter topics. Neville sounds almost gloating as he tells Miles just how good his nephew is. How _eager_ Danny is to play fetch, and be a good dog, and do whatever Neville tells him to. Miles wishes his nephew would tremble fearfully, or whine, or cry, or _something_, just to show that something was wrong with the picture presented to him. His wish is left unfulfilled.

Miles' blood boils as Neville finishes talking to him. The wood on the chair arms has gouges from where Miles' nails dug into the wood, and the former general is sure he's got splinters under his fingernails.

He is so grateful for the gag in his mouth as the guards drag him away.

Miles doesn't think he'll be able to refrain from obscenity as Neville begins playing a much-restricted game of fetch with Danny.

Most of all, though, Miles promises that he's going to fix Danny, whatever it takes.

Because he can't shake the feeling that this is his fault.

- o – o -

So, what did you think? Good? Bad? Can't wait to read FOHL starting next month? Drop a line and let me know!

Also, NaNo is done (for me). Final word count: 100,201. Cups of coffee averaged a day: 11. Sanity: Non-existent.


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